I’ve always been petrified of getting hurt, so I mask my vulnerability with hyper-independence. I’ve been alone for so long that I’ve become accustomed to thriving by myself. So I wasn’t prepared for what was about to happen when he sat next to me on the plane that day. Something about him made me feel comfortable. So I opened up. I was cracked wide open.
Things with him were different. We were equals. We were vastly different, but complemented and supported each other in every way. We were open. For the first and only time, I allowed someone to know every nook and cranny of my personality. Even the dark, gritty, covered-in-cobwebs side of me that rarely sees the light of day. I loved completely and utterly unconditionally. And I (very timidly) allowed myself to be deliriously happy.
The whole time, I had this tiny voice in my head telling me it was too good to be true. I kept telling it to ‘Fuck Off’ and tried to stifle the questions and trust in the feelings I was having.
And then something changed. Out of the blue. Like a rug was pulled out from under me and I tumbled down and down and down into a dark hole. No explanation. No closure.
Dizzying. Confused. Hurt. Broken.
This is why I don’t open up, I told myself.
This is why I can’t trust anyone with my heart, I told myself.
This is why I’d rather be single for the rest of my life than to subject my heart to be so mishandled, I told myself.
I still tell myself.
It’s been a really long time since things ended and I’d be lying if I said I was over it. The experience has affected everything in how I approach the idea of relationships and dating. It’s been so long that I feel silly talking about it with friends. The walls came tumbling down, and were built up twice as fast and twice as thick.
I’m still not really sure where to go from here…but I’m doing my best to move forward, albeit slowly. Blindly picking up the pieces of my broken heart with the hopes that one day it will be complete enough to love again.